


Warped

by Mindbreaker (ilovetherain)



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovetherain/pseuds/Mindbreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an empty warehouse.<br/>There are two assassins. They are young, they are crazy and they are full of hormones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warped

**Author's Note:**

> Beta job by lovely and talented Camiran  
> Disclaimer: they don't belong to me. I belong to them.  
> Warning: does smut requires warning? Well, just in case... PURE SMUT AHEAD. You are warned.  
> Note: no naive dumbass Ken and no idiotic Farfarello. Also, I do know canon Ken doesn't wear raincoat but I loved the image

At two-thirty sharp, we were on site.

We must have been a glorious and dreadful sight; modern knights in the dark, with our black outfits, our long raincoats fluttering in the winter wind and the fast and resolute strides of those who are ready to annihilate whoever dares to cross their path.  
Aya before us, Yohji and me just behind him. That night, Aya fuelled our rage and determination; we were ready to follow him straight to hell. Through the earphones, Omi gave us accurate indications about which directions to take, security systems to deactivate, targets to erase.

That's what we are: a death machine, frightful and lethal; a perfectly functioning system that could not fail; performers of a script so many times and so thoroughly rehearsed to become a part of us, to the point we couldn't tell where reality ended and pretence started. But, after all, did we really care?

At three-twenty it was over.

What until fifty minutes ago was one of the most inexpugnable stronghold of Yakuza now oozed with the stench of a huge graveyard filled with slaughtered bodies, where the smell of blood, adrenaline and fear was so strong and pregnant to make even accustomed stomachs revolting in disgust.  
Of course, everything had gone smoothly, without a single imperfection. Included Schwarz arrival at three o'clock, followed by another of our epic battles on the field. As usual, without neither victors nor vanquished.

At three-thirty the building was empty; everybody had gone, but me. I had to wait for the Retrieval and Disposal Unit to come and carry corpses away and, finally, to clean everything up. My companions had disappeared without a word, most likely looking for a hidden corner where Aya would have Yohji fucking him so hard as to blow his brain away. I knew Crawford and Schuldig would have secluded in the suite of a luxury hotel, ordered the most expensive dinner and indulged into their perverted and sophisticated fantasies. And I also knew that, somewhere in town, our little, lethal Omi was going to celebrate the mission achievement with his equally little and lethal friend, Nagi.  
But what we did outside our... working time was our own damn business.  
For my part, the slaughtering of twelve men in less than an hour and my bugnuk plungering into Farfarello's flesh was the best of all aphrodisiacs.

At four-thirty the warehouse, where the last act of our mission had taken place, was just an empty box, ready for reconversion. I gave one more look around and I headed for the door. That was closed.  
I didn't even have to turn around to figure out he was there. When you have fought with the same opponent for so long, you begin to think alike.

"Kitten, kitten, where are thou?" I heard him whispering with his soft, warm voice pleasantly tinged by a foreign inflexion.

I couldn't suppress a silent laugh. I turned around and he was exactly where, and how, I had figured him to be.  
A silent, diaphanous shape, almost opalescent at the dim light of the moon, on whom stains of fresh blood shone, red and smouldering like nail polish. He looked like a porcelain doll fallen into the hands of a sadistic kid.

I eyed the mess on his left thigh, four deep and parallel cuts, and I couldn't help by feeling a certain amount of smugness. Not that it meant anything since Farfarello was immune to pain, but it was a more intimate pleasure to know that it had been me, me and nobody else in doing it to him.  
I tried to brush my fingers through my hair but they were stuck in a sticky mass. I remembered I was still covered in blood, my victims' and his.

"Farfarello... What a surprise. How come your master unleashed you tonight?"

He smiled, amused.

"Brad and Schu, Schu and Brad, you know?" He made a vulgar gesture with his hands.

"I understand, you were one too much. And no Churches to visit? Priests to burn? Nuns to butcher?

I was playing with a bomb but I couldn't care less.  
He studied me with that golden, wolfish eye. I stood still, barely clenching my fists to feel the comforting weight of my bugnuks.

"Meeeow. Bad, bad kitten," he said with a tone that made me shiver; and not out of fear.

Without pausing his perusal, he took two steps towards me, shortening the distance. My fingers clenched almost reflexively.

"So? You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here? Are you already tired of your private crusade against God? Boredom? Lack of primal elements?" I love playing dangerous but, evidently, Farfarello was not in the mood because, instead of charging me, he simply shrugged.

"There are more entertaining things than hurting God."

"Like?"

The space of a heartbeat and his fingers were playing with a blade drawn from nowhere, wheeling it with delicacy, as if they didn't touch it. Love for blades is something we share; along with madness somebody would say.

"Like... Pulling my sane eyes out?" He feigned the gesture.

"Mhhh. I doubt God would be that much concerned.

"Then I could kill you."

"My! I'm flattered, I didn't know I was so high on your priorities list."

I felt the pressure wave a second before he dashed towards me, as if the atmosphere's particles had been moved by the mere intentionality of the act. And he would have hit me, the son of a bitch, if only he hadn't forgotten of a small, insubstantial detail: the blood pouring from his wounds had made the floor slippery. It took an imperceptible, infinitesimal hesitation to turn the game over.

I pinned him to the floor and straddled his hips, holding his arms along his torso with my knees. I grabbed his hair and lifted his head, and then I put the bugnuk's blades against his throat.

"Crawford would be highly disappointed by this inattention of yours. If you move I kill you."

Farfarello is crazy but not stupid. He lay perfectly still; I could feel his body shaking by hardly restrained rage. Additive and alluring. With a precise blow at his head, I sent him into dreamland.

When he woke up, fifteen minutes later, he was handcuffed to a high water pipe crossing the warehouse - I always carry a pair of handcuffs with me; you have no idea how useful they can be - his arms high over his head but not completely outstretched.  
He tugged a couple of time, but, besides the clanging noise of steel against iron, nothing happened.  
Farfarello's clothes, now stiff with blood, lay scattered in a corner.

From the look he threw at me from above his shoulder, I realized he had understood. As I stated, crazy but not a fool. Not at all.

"Now?" He asked flatly.

"The kitten has found his mouse," I sing-sang "and now wants to play with him for a while"

"Bad kitten."

"Meow, purrr purrr."

I took my raincoat off, the bulletproof jacket and the Chelsea Football Club t-shirt, a gift from Omi and my best lucky charm, followed soon after. This time, I thought idly, they would need a qualified washing for sure.

I hadn't turned the lights on because I wanted to enjoy the sight of Farfarello's pale complexion under the pure moonlight seeping through huge windows. While I was waiting for him to wake up, I had made a little investigation and found what I needed: a basin, clean rags and fresh water.

I approached him and, totally uncaring of kicks, swearing and threats, I began to clean him up from dried blood, with a special consideration to the new cuts on his thigh. I committed to this operation with passion and extra-care and, after a while, Farfarello's body began to relax under my slow and rhythmic ministration. He has the body of a predator, slim and muscular; each time I see him fighting, he makes me think of a puma: quick, agile, lethal.  
When I was done, the water in the basin was dark with blood but Farfarello's skin had found that wonderful candour that enthrals me so much.

Only this way, all the scars, endless scars, become visible, drawing thin shadow lines across his body. I looked for the ones I had left, the older and the more recent, letters of a mysterious alphabet carved on skin that told a story: our story. Among all, four parallel signs started on the left shoulder, run across his back and died just over his right gluteus.  
I laid my bugnuk's blades over those lines, carefully, barely touching them, and followed the path.

It still amazes me how a body, so completely insensitive to pain, can be awakened when stirred to pleasure. And in fact, I clearly saw his hair standing at the base of his neck and I clearly heard a broken hiss coming from his mouth. I rested my lips behind his ear, he has small, delicate ears, and blew softly. This time, the hissing had the unmistakable sound of a stifled sigh. When I touched him between his thighs I smiled: he was getting aroused.  
I went on like this for... fifteen minutes, I believe; not that I kept track of time, but in our business time is essential and it's an integral part of our thinking.  
Whilst I touched, stroked, brushed, now with the blades, then with my fingers, then with my lips and tongue, I couldn't help but thinking how easy it is to bend and mould an iron will, once you find just one weak spot. And I, for sure, knew where to look for.   
I began to register every little reaction: the perspiration on his skin, the way his head relaxed against his left arm, his fists clenched around the chains, how his muscles tensed and relaxed, rhythmically, his nipples, taut and erect... And that endless chanting in a foreign language. I have seen the same reactions in some victims after hours and hours of torture; once they have reached their braking point, either for pain or fear, they tend to hide in a new dimension, from where they almost never come back. I wondered if, after all, this wasn't some sort of torment for Farfarello as well: an overload of sensations, nerves ending thoroughly stimulated and awakened in a body otherwise insensitive to every physical perception.

"Do you like it, Jei? Do you like what I'm doing to you?" I asked in a less detached way I had intended to.

I took my bugnuks off, kneeled in front of him and I rested my cheek against his belly, kissed his navel. Soft pubic hair tickled my lips; I tease the skin there with the tip of my tongue and his cock twitched, a single pearly droplet leaking form the slit. Farfarello moaned. This had me instantly rock hard, to the point I had to open my pants and massage my erection carefully, to alleviate the too fast increasing tension. My balls were already so full and heavy... But I didn't want it to finish too fast. There were so many things I had planned to do to him.

"Tá grá agam leat."

Of course I hadn't the faintest idea of what the hell he was saying but I figured it was no praise. I smiled.

"Yeah, me too."

I moved my tongue over his testicles, and then along the underside of his cock, playing with the soft skin around the head, teasing the slit, wetting my lips with the salty precome; all the while, I kept on stroking my thumb over my own erection, my belly and loins throbbing almost painfully.  
Farfarello began to rock against my lips, unconsciously I think, and I had to hold him still by his hips. Under my hands, his body was shaking with restrained energy and lust. Without losing my grip, I shifted my attention to the cuts on his thighs, under the moonlight they appeared shallow and dark against the white of his skin. I had just begun to lick the first cut when I felt him tense. I raised my eyes just in time to see his head falling back and his muscles contracting. I could barely close my hand around the base of his cock, a second before he could come.

He screamed, like a wounded beast.

"You are dead." He managed to mumble among ragged breaths.

Oh, I was so jealous. I'd have given everything, everything to be in his place, that moment. The building tension spreading through your whole body, awakening every single nerve, making your skin agonizingly sensitive and your nipples tingle; the blood running fast, pulsating, heating up until it becomes fire in your loins; your cock so swollen and hard it hurts, and your heart that throbs into your ears until you realize you are just going to come. And that you would kill if you don't do it right now. Only that there is a crazy bastard that won't let you, and you are restrained and there is nothing you can do. But beg.

"Say it."

"Mhn..."

I stood up, I wanted to see him while he spoke the magic words, I wanted to taste that moment of absolute triumph I had been waiting for so long...   
I sucked my middle finger and stroked it over his nipples, in slow circles, grazing the tip with the nail. My other hand had Farfarello's cock still secured into an iron grip; it reminded me of a caged snake.

Farfarello was breathing fast, small damp puffs in the chilled hair. He was so beautiful.

"Say it."

He bit his lips with such strength to drain blood, and then he seemed to regain control, all at once. He grinned at me, in a way that would have frightened everybody; everybody but me.

"Fuck me, kitten."

I paid him back with my best hyena smile and literally threw myself over his bloodstained lips. More than a kiss, it was a fight for supremacy

I could hardly grab him by his hips and his legs were already clutched around me, thighs possessively tightened around my waist, groin pushing desperately against mine. I lowered my pants with one hand, smeared spit and precome over my cock and immediately I shoved it inside of him. He sucked me in and I had to exert all the self-control I could muster to not come at once.

It didn't last long but during those brief, intense moments while I moved inside of him, while my hands touched him everywhere, I realized that nobody can give him what I can: sensations.  
I beheld him when he reached his orgasm and no creature could have been more beautiful and scaring; a disfigured angel enraptured in ecstasy. I watched while he rode the wave of his emotions, enjoying every single instant of that perfect moment; my lust swelled to a painfully high level, unbearable. But it was only when he collapsed, exhausted, into my arms that I could let go: one single powerful shove and I came, so hard as I never had before. I screamed against his damp shoulder as I filled him with endless gushes of warm seed. I barely felt his teeth tearing flesh of my neck.

***

"You are beginning to think," I told him as soon as I regained breath and a bit of coherence. I came out of him without delicacy, cleaned myself up and started to dress.

Farfarello studied me, languid and relaxed, his head against his arm.

"What of me now?"

"Mh, good question."

I put the bugnuks back on and approached him, thoughtful.

"Are you going to kill me?" He asked, pouting deliciously.

I pondered for a while and shook my head.

"Nah, I don't like the idea to be deprived of my best foe. No, I'm going to free you, but you try to attack me and I'm ready to change my mind, got it?"

"Mmmh. Got it."

I grinned; as if I didn't know him. I opened the cuffs.

I found myself on my back with Farfarello straddling me, naked. My hands were also pinned to the floor, over my head.

"Wrong move." I said.

He sneered. I knew that sneer all to well. He bent and kissed the tip of my nose and burst into laughing, rolling onto his side and dragging me along.

We kept quiet for a while, simply holding each other, enjoying the silence and the closeness until our mental clock told us it was better to go before Weiß and Schwarz sent a retrieving patrol.  
I caressed his scars one more time and touched his lips with a gentle kiss.

"Great performance, Siberian." He breathed against my lips.

"No, it's me who has to congratulate."

We kissed for a little while, tongues caressing and playing. I run my fingers along his back, lower and lower, circling and fingering his opening, still slippery with my come. He pushed against me; he was hard again, and I was too.

"We have to go."

"When can we play again?" He moaned without stopping to thrust against me.

"I don't know, it depends on Crawford and Omi, when they'll plan the next mission."

I grabbed both our erections and began to pump with slow, powerful tugs.

"Next..." he swallowed hard, "next time... we swap roles...FUCK!"

I was fisting our cocks faster and faster; our breaths came out deep and quick.

"We'll see. Now... come for me, baby. Please, do it, do it. Come now."

He did, groaning, and I followed a while after.

"Next time I'll blow your brain out," I panted. His cock twitched happily into my hand.

It was getting late. We cleaned and dressed quickly. We erased every evidence of our... activities and headed for the door.

We were already outside when I remembered something.

"What did you mean before, that thing you said... 'Tá gran... Something like that."

He smiled, devilishly.

"It's Gaelic, find out by yourself."

I shook my head and smiled.

FIN


End file.
